


Role Reversal

by idyll



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-30
Updated: 2005-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Sam. Nightmares and sanctuary. Set prior to Bloody Mary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Role Reversal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vylit](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Vylit).



Sammy's sleeping; it's as nightmarish for Dean to watch as it is for Sammy to do. If he knew about that he'd feel guilty, try to do an even better job at not sleeping, and no way does Dean want that to happen, so he's never mentioned it.

There's a sharp, desperate call. One syllable, one breath, one second: _Jess._

Dean stares unseeingly at the magazine he's pretending to read, makes very sure that he doesn't clench his hands around the pages and mangle them. Sammy's too observant not to notice, especially when he wakes up bleary, off balance, and eager to focus on something, anything, else.

Not long from now, Sammy's going to learn how to have his nightmares quietly, craftily. Just like Dean did when he was younger. Like he does now. And he isn't sure whether to look forward to that happening, or mourn what it'll mean for Sammy.

Another call, this one panicked, scared, young. One syllable, one breath, one second: _Dean!_

Dean knows there's nothing he can do when Sammy dreams of Jess, of what happened to her. There's nothing to make that better; it has to be gotten through. But this is a different story, and Dean's on his feet in the space of a heartbeat, at the side of Sammy's bed in two.

"Hey," he says quietly. Sammy's brow furrows but he settles a bit, stops jerking and twisting on the bed, and Dean leans down, wraps a hand around his bicep and squeezes lightly. "It's all right, Sammy."

Dean watches Sammy start suddenly, violently, and then open his eyes.

"Sammy's a chubby--"

"I know _who_ Sammy is."

Sammy blinks, shakes his head, looks around at the lamp that's lit, the magazine on the floor, and Dean's untouched bed. His gaze skitters from the bedside clock to Dean. "It's two in the morning."

"Thanks for that update, Big Ben," Dean drawls and he's about to stand up straight again, but Sammy's hand covers his, pins it in place. Dean's brows lift. "What?"

"You're not going to ask?"

"You never want to talk about it; I figured I'd save my breath. Catch you tomorrow after a nap and see if my luck's changed."

"Dean," Sammy says sharply, and his hand tightens on Dean's. "You let me sleep through the ones about Jess, but you woke me up in the middle of one about you."

Dean frowns in aggravation because it's long past time for Sammy to realize that there's a whole lot in this world that doesn't need to be acknowledged out loud. It's the damn Man Code, for crying out loud. Sammy misinterprets the frown, of course, because he's too defensive after he wakes up like this.

"What--did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Dean almost smiles at the question, but there's really nothing to smile about, so he doesn't. "There's not a lot you don't notice. I know that."

"You're really _not_ going to ask." Sammy's voice is surprised, like he thought Dean would actually want to know about whatever horrible scene had him calling Dean's name the way he did. The same thing must occur to Sammy because his grip gets painful on Dean's hand. "You don't want to know."

And it could be Sammy's answer to the question Dean won't ask, or a statement of fact, but Dean just lets the words fade into the silence, roll off his back like they weren't ever said at all, and yanks his hand out from under Sammy's.

"I guess you're up for the night," Dean comments when Sammy sits up, stretches and scrubs at his face with both hands. Sammy nods, eyes averted, and Dean bites his tongue for a minute, then says, "Well, make yourself useful and do a laundry run at that twenty-hour place we saw on Main Street."

"It's Schyler Road, not Main Street," Sammy corrects him, long-suffering and still only half-awake.

"Whatever," Dean says and pulls his shirt off, starts working on his belt. "Just get it done. And use the good dryer sheets they sell there, not those cheap generic things. I've got needs, Sam, and soft, spring fresh t-shirts are one of them."

He steps out of his jeans, tosses them and the shirt at Sammy, then crawls into his own bed, sprawls on his stomach under the covers, and closes his eyes. He listens to Sammy gather up his clothes and shove them into the laundry duffel, shoulder it, and walk to the door.

"Back soon," Sammy says quietly and Dean grunts.

*

The dream starts off surreal and disjointed, a regular old dream that Dean forgets even as he's in the middle of it. It shifts suddenly, becomes malevolent and terrifying, and Dean suffers through it for a while before he remembers that it's only a dream, a nightmare, and he doesn't have to stick around.

He wakes quietly, without moving, and he doesn't open his eyes until he's sure he's really awake, because he's made that mistake once or twice, and it well and truly sucked.

When he does open his eyes, it's only a fraction of an inch. He's face-to-face with the wall next to his bed, which tells him nothing important. He turns over like he's still asleep and just changing position, and cracks his eyes open again.

Sammy is on his back on the other bed. Dean heard him come in earlier, waking up just enough to categorize Sammy's quiet "it's just me" as not being a threat before he slipped back into sleep.

Sammy's awake, of course, staring at the ceiling in the dark, still fully dressed. Dean watches him breathe until something in his gut loosens in relief.

"I always could feel your eyes on me," Sammy says softly and Dean freezes. "I'd wake up for no reason. Took me forever to figure out it was you. Another while before I realized it was because you had your own nightmares."

Dean closes his eyes again, stays quiet, and pretends even harder that he's still asleep. But he hears Sammy get up, come his way, and he sighs hugely and flops onto his back, giving up the pretense and glaring at Sammy. "Damn it."

"Move over," Sammy says, laughing a bit and shoving at Dean's shoulder. "You never go back to sleep after one, either."

"Shut up," Dean grumbles, because it's one thing for him to know Sammy that well, but it's another thing for it to work the other way.

He moves over, though, because Sammy keeps pushing him and he's really damn annoying when he gets going. Sammy sits with his back against the wall, head tilted and Dean tenses.

"Stop staring up there; it's creepy." Dean smacks Sammy in the stomach and he rolls his eyes but looks away, down at his hands, which are resting on his thighs.

And maybe Sammy's learning a few things, finally, because he doesn't ask Dean what it was about. Not that Dean could tell him. He's got enough nightmare material after all his years of hunting that everything sort of blends together, gives him dreams too confusing and full of too many terrible things to be anything linear or clear. He considers that a blessing.

They sit and lay there in the dark, in the quiet, and it's not as good as sleeping without nightmares, but Sammy's not looking up for once, and they've managed to survive everything they've faced, and it's enough for now.

.End


End file.
